


No going back.

by wearethewitches



Series: discovertrise [1]
Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alien Cultural Differences, Aliens, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Boss/Employee Relationship, F/M, Fake Marriage, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Friends to Lovers, Marriage of Convenience, Political Alliances, Time Travel Fix-It, Vulcan Culture, Wedding Planning, no betas we die like captain georgiou
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-20
Updated: 2019-04-23
Packaged: 2020-01-22 21:18:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18535672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wearethewitches/pseuds/wearethewitches
Summary: When it seems like the only way to further progress a negotiation between two Acamarian tribes is to let them plan a cross-culture wedding, Michael Burnham volunteers to be their guinea pig bride.Her supposed fiance? Christopher Pike.-fake relationship/friends to lovers prompt for missesiamout





	1. part i

**Author's Note:**

  * For [missesiamout](https://archiveofourown.org/users/missesiamout/gifts).



> edit: sooooooo i figured out how all the damn stardates work on star trek dsc and it's extra annoying BUT, basically, imagine this canon divergence takes place when Michael requests to go to Vulcan to find Spock and they examine the time hole thingy. canon divergence as in: they have to go be emergency mediators, blah blah blah and the timeline is on hold because Canon depends on them getting Control's virus via the probe-that-time-travels.
> 
> tl;dr, i figured out the stardate this takes place in (post-1034), it's between the episode on kaminar and where michael finds spock with amanda on vulcan/the rift in time and space + the time travelling probe

The Acamarian’s of Acamar II are split into six distinct tribes, spread across their planet in equal measures. It is an arid planet, so when Michael exists the transport ship, she breathes in the dry heat and feels a thrill from the similar humidity to Vulcan. Saru is not so impressed, fidgeting as they walk down the ramp towards the two, large, open tents in the middle of the desert.

The two Clan Leaders step forwards, one bowing and one inclining their arm out in welcome.

“Starfleet, you are invited into this dispute as mediators,” the latter Clan Leader says, stepping back to sit in throne-like bench, upon which three others of her clan sits. Michael recognises her as Badura, Clan Leader of the _Dira_ tribe, sitting with her life-partners Vezera and Orins – recognised by the matching tattoos to the left of their lips that is mirrored on Badura – and their son, the subject of negotiations, Clan Heir Vezerins.

The opposing Clan Leader shoots Badura an almost scolding glare, standing straight from his bow. “Honoured Starfleet personnel, the Gaddidi welcome you to negotiations and offer you tidings. I am Sah, Clan Leader of the Gaddidi Tribe – my lodgings are yours.”

Michael nods to each of them in turn, hands clasped behind her back. “My name is Commander Michael Burnham and this is Commander Saru, of the U.S.S. _Discovery_. We come here today to assist your clans in negotiating your alliance.”

“We’re negotiating a marriage, not an alliance,” Vezerins mutters loudly.

Michael inclines her head. “Clan Heir Vezerins – respectfully, in this situation they are one and the same.”

“I do not see your future life-partner,” Saru points out from beside her, peering at the Gaddidi’s open tent. Michael looks as well and finds he is correct: only the Gaddidi council inhabits the tent. Not even Clan Leader Sah’s life-partner is there to watch and Michael is sure of that, because Sah’s wedding ring through his right cheek isn’t replicated on any in the tent.

“My child shall not be seen by her potential life-partner while their wedding is unorganised,” Sah explains. “It is Clan tradition.”

“One which violates our own Clan tradition that engaged life-partners live with each other,” Badura replies sharply, before she speaks directly to Michael and Saru. “Clan Dira refuses to continue negotiations until Clan Heir Danta is procured.”

“It will not be so!” Sah exclaims. Within moments, the two tents are shouting at each other and Michael is hard-pressed to keep up with the arguments being called across the dusty plain.

Saru and Michael exchange a glance, before Michael steps forwards, raising her voice.

“Peace!” she thunders, effectively cutting off each speaker. Neither clan wishes to talk back at her. Michael is perfectly aware of how much respect Starfleet gathers in the Acamar system, even from the Acamarian Gatherers, who are no more than pirates to the planet-bound Acamarians. She will use that as much as she dares to help this alliance prosper.

There is a moment of silence before Saru speaks. “Quite obviously, your traditions are very much different to the others and incorporating them into an alliance is both difficult and a hardship. But the nature of alliance is compromise.”

“Therefore, you _both_ must give and take,” Michael continues, before surmising, “and your first obstacle is Clan Heir Danta. Where is she?”

Clan Leader Sah is stone-faced. “With the Guardians. They are religious acolytes of our divine god, Gaddidian. She will not come until the day she weds – she knows her path.”

“Clan Leader,” Michael speaks lowly, “if your daughter marries into the ranks of Clan Dira, she shall be as much subject to their traditions as yours. This is the first compromise, until new cross-Clan traditions can be made.”

“It will not be so, Honoured Mediator,” Sah shakes his head, determined. “The wedding must be organised first. Danta may meet her betrothed on their wedding day after sunrise, but not before. _Never_ before. She is with the Guardians to prostrate herself under Gaddidian, to ask for the gifts of fertility, peace and trade in her new Clan.”

“The betrothed must _both_ be involved in the planning,” Badura seethes. “Do you not respect her that much? The ceremony is for our children – it is a caveat in this alliance, a physical bonding to represent our tribes uniting under one banner. But it will be _their_ wedding, no matter the historical implications that will come later.”

“Gaddidi weddings are organised by the parents and elders of the betrotheds-”

“Your weddings don’t take that long anyway!” Vezerins exclaims, leaning forwards. “Have Danta brought here at sunrise tomorrow and we shall plan the wedding that very day!”

Sah’s cheeks go red with rage, but it is Badura who puts a calming hand on her sons shoulder. “That cannot be, though your idea has merit. We have been negotiating out of this tent for weeks and I have no doubt that trying to finish those negotiations in seven hours of daylight will be the end of our peace-time with the Gaddidi.”

Vezerins snarls, baring pointed teeth at Sah, but he falls quiet. Something occurs to Michael.

“You need a simulation,” she says. “You’re right in saying that trying to organise the bonding of Vezerins and Danta in seven hours would end this alliance – but what if there was a marriage that didn’t have so much impact on your Clan relations? Your Clans could work on finding equal ground in a trial-run.”

“And because Acamarians around the system all hold the autonomy of allied parties in high respect” Saru continues thoughtfully, “the third party would be respected according to the morality and ethics of all Acamarian people. Those organising the wedding would have to act professionally and politely, as if there were no negotiations at all.”

“We would not want to distress them with petty fighting,” a council-member of Badura’s congregate says, as if in agreement. Badura nods and just like that, the Dira agree to the idea.

“A trial-run. To test the boundaries of our future alliance and create the first draft of a Dira-Gaddidi wedding.”

Sah looks far more sceptical. “I shall speak to my Council,” he says, reaching up to the tent roof to press a hidden mechanism. A pale yellow shield appears across the open end of the tent, blocking all sound as Sah turns to his people. Michael can see them discussing, some fervent, some wary – but what really gets her is how the Dira tribe simply start chatting, as if this is a usual occurrence.

“Do the Gaddidi often go into seclusion to speak?” Michael questions them.

Badura glances her way, motioning with her hand for a caterer to offer them both canapes of some sort. “Sah was elected by the Council. His reign will last so long as he keeps the Gaddidi first on his priorities. He will agree to your idea of a ‘trial-run’, most likely.”

“It’s logical,” Vezerins notes.

Saru huffs slightly in laughter. “It came from Commander Burnham, so it surely must.”

At their querying looks, Michael elaborates. “I was brought up in a Vulcan-Human household. I subscribe to Surak’s principles of logic. Commander Saru was referring to this.”

By Badura, Orins twitches, speaking for the first time. “So, you are not alone, then?”

Michael furrows her brow. “Alone?” She tries to recall as many Dira traditions and key cultural points as she can, applying as many as she can to herself. Acamarians are not so different from Humans, in a sense. Physically, the only difference is the vertical ridge above the glabella and eyebrows and culturally, they signify different meaningful life achievements with tattoos or jewellery somewhere on their face, a taboo for most humans outside of ornamentation.

Orins tilts their head. “I have a Human friend who lives in the capital. Her Human customs dictate her hair shows her marital status. You are of Vulcan, however. I had assumed you were without companionship from your unbound hair.”

“I have companionship,” Michael replies, before realising her error. “No. No, my apologies for the confusion – I do not have a significant other.”

At this point, Badura and Vezerins both have identical looks of disbelief on their faces. Orins leans forwards in their seat. “You do, or you do not? Would it not be beneficial for our trial wedding to be for Starfleet personnel, who both act in their own interest and the interest of the tribes? If you have a significant other to whom you are unmarried, then you could be part of the trial wedding.”

“Michael has no significant other,” Saru replies for her, flabbergasted. Michael stares at Orins in shock at what they are suggesting.

“Commander Burnham seemed quite conflicted over her own status,” Badura points out, smirking slightly. “Why hide it, Commander? Are you ashamed of your betrothed?”

Michael opens her mouth to say _I have no significant other_ , but Sah and his council drop the sound-blocking forcefield and declare, “There shall be a trial-run. We must now find those that would honour us by marrying under our combined banner.”

“We have found someone already, Clan Leader Sah,” Vezerins proclaims, back straight as he points at Michael. “The Commander shall wed her betrothed.”

“Commander Burnham has no betrothed!” Saru says, hand pressing down on her shoulder. His support is appreciated – but Michael is running simulations in her mind.

 _It could work,_ some part of her thinks. _You could carry the negotiations through a trial-run and if you aren’t married by the end of it, then the alliance never would have worked anyway. If it does work, then Vezerins and Danta have a basis upon which to arrange their own union and complete the alliance._

“Just because she hasn’t told you, doesn’t mean she isn’t betrothed,” Badura says to Saru.

“You are betrothed?” Sah questions, looking at Michael.

 _And if I marry someone on Discovery who would agree to it,_ she continues to think, _then we could amicably separate after the alliance is sealed. It would be a mock marriage. It wouldn’t be real._

The two Clan Leaders look at her now, their people sat in wait for her answer. Saru looks down on her from his tall height and Michael breathes in the hot, dry air of Acamar II – deciding then and there to perpetrate this falsehood, so that these two tribes might live in peace instead of war.

“I am betrothed,” Michael states. Saru’s hand falls from her shoulder as the Kelpien stares at her in shock. “I will speak to my fiancé on _Discovery_ and send a message to both Clans, should they agree to it.”

Badura lifts her chin up, triumphant. “We shall expect you here before sunrise tomorrow for the preparations. This alliance _will_ prosper.”

“Agreed,” Sah says quickly. “You and your betrothed shall be our honoured guests. To the alliance!”

The whole camp but Michael and Saru cry, _“To the alliance!_ ”


	2. part ii

Chris sits at his desk, thinking the problem over. Michael Burnham stands opposite him with Saru frazzled at her side, staring at her.

“So, you’re _not_ engaged?” the Kelpien questions.

“No,” Michael says to him in a calming voice. “I wouldn’t keep that from you, Saru. You’re my friend.”

“But it’s your reality now,” Chris interrupts, catching her attention, “unless you want to admit you lied to the Acamarians.”

Michael purses her lips. “Captain, I truly think it would help the alliance prosper if they could demonstrate their allied capabilities before the real thing.”

“I do, too,” Chris admits. “A trial-run – now, that’s genius, especially when so much hangs on it. The Gaddidi and the Dira two of the most populous tribes on Acamar Two. If they went to war with each other, they’d draw the rest of the planet into their conflict. We don’t want that.”

“No, sir,” Michael shakes her head.

“But who will act as your supposed fiancé?” Saru says, asking all the right questions. “Commander Tyler is far away and I know of no other who you could feasibly act in love with.”

Michael breathes in deeply, “Showing love is not necessary. They know I grew up on Vulcan. Culturally, anything I do could be perceived as _other_ , including but not limited to showing zero to little romantic behaviour around my fictional betrothed.”

Chris leans back in his seat, thinking deeply. “What was your opinion on the Clan Leaders’ personalities? What kind of excuse would they accept for you keeping a relationship secret from Saru and those on board _Discovery_?”

He watches Michael think, her brow furrowing as she analyses her previous interactions with both of them. Saru, similarly, has his own thinking face on.

“Clan Leader Sah depends on his council to keep him in his position,” Saru points out. “So perhaps, it’s not him we need to convince.”

“No,” Michael disagrees. “He might need the council to keep him in his position, but you forget – he’s been the Clan Leader for over sixty years, according to the data afforded to us by the Acamar System Archive. But the Gaddidi governmental system might be our excuse, if you compare it to Starfleet.”

Chris’ eyebrow rises in judgement. “You want to fake a relationship with someone higher ranked than you?”

“Or lower,” Michael adds. “Anything that could be seen as inappropriate amongst colleagues. Someone I’m responsible for – or who’s responsible for me.”

Saru glances between them. “Michael, if your intention is to have Starfleet overturn your incoming nuptials, then to save your reputation it would be easier if your supposed fiancé were of similar or higher rank. Perhaps even a member of the bridge crew.”

Chris sees the first sign of unease on Michael’s face since their conversation began. She doesn’t want to put that on her friends, clearly. “It seems unfair to ask that of them.”

“Marry me.”

Michael and Saru look to Chris sharply and he realises with a start that _he_ was the one to say it.

“Captain?”

Chris straightens. “Marry _me_ ,” he intones, brooking no argument. Michael is stunned and Chris become more determined to help her shoulder this burden. “If we’re to help the Acamarians, you need a fiancé and as your captain, that would definitely be a reason to keep our relationship a remain a secret until now.”

“Sir, I can’t ask that of you,” Michael replies, shaking her head in disbelief.

“No, Commander,” Chris interrupts, raising his hand. “It’s this, or war – and we can always get it annulled afterwards. Do you not trust me to treat you respectfully? I wouldn’t dream of taking advantage of you.”

“Taking advantage of me?” Michael repeats, incredulous. “How could you take advantage of me?”

“Well,” Chris waggles his eyebrows with a smile, trying to put her at ease, “no doubt rumours of our torrid affair are going to spread throughout the crew, regardless of our intentions once this leaves my ready-room. I could say anything to keep our cover story intact.”

Saru raises a hand, “By cover story, do you mean to say we will not be informing the rest of the crew of the developments?”

“I think it’s best we keep this on a need-to-know basis and keep up the charade until we leave the Acamar System,” Chris nods. “I’ll talk to the Clan Leaders with Michael and request that the circumstances be kept vague, for the sake of our careers. Additionally, we can contact Admiral Cornwell so she can mitigate the damage amongst the admiralty and annul it.”

“I would like to say,” Saru says, “that I find this plan over-much, simply to keep an alliance.”

“War could break out on Acamar Two,” Michael shakes her head.

“We’ll proceed accordingly,” Chris tells him. “And if anyone asks, you never knew.”

“Of your relationship or this strategy?”

Chris smiles tightly. “Both.”

He dismisses the commander, asking Michael to stay as he steps around the desk. She fidgets briefly as he comes to stand in front of her, hands behind his back.

“Commander – Michael?”

Her lip twitches. “Michael,” she confirms. “At least in front of the Acamarians.”

“Chris,” he offers his hand, which before she can shake, he brings to his lips. He can see her become flustered, surprised at his actions as he kisses her knuckles. There’s a slight wideness to her eyes – a sort of slack-jawed shock. “We’re supposed to have taken this relationship far enough to be engaged, Michael. Control that blush.”

Michael doesn’t take her hand away as he lets go, her outstretched limb hovering between them, just brushing the dark blue of his _Discovery_ uniform. After a moment, she reaches out, hand pressing against his chest. Chris flushes at the contact and Michael struggles to contain her grin.

“Control that blush, _Christopher,_ ” she teases, boldly reaching up to tap his nose. Chris goes cross-eyed for a moment as her hands return to her sides. “The Acamarians are waiting. Would you like to leave now, Captain?”

“…boundaries,” Chris’ eyes dart to hers. “Before we go down. We need to discuss boundaries. Touching, like this. Any other… _romantic gestures._ ”

Michael tilts her head. “I usually subscribe to more human romantic gestures-” Her words send his heart racing for a moment because she’s talking about _kissing_ , until she continues, “-but for the performance on Acamar Two, a Vulcan tradition would be applicable.” She hesitates, then offers two fingers.

Chris, intrigued, copies her and watches her hold them together. Oddly, her expression is reserved, at odds with the teasing smile from before. Her hand disappears behind her back again. Chris’ studies in xenoanthropology don’t cover Vulcan traditions, as when it comes to diplomatic exchanges, Vulcan’s are simply not to be touched because of their telepathic abilities.

 _Ah._ Chris’ brain screeches to a halt. _Telepathic abilities._

“On Vulcan, that would be an exchange of feelings between loved ones, correct me if I’m wrong,” Chris says carefully.

Michael nods shortly. “In public, it’s seen as almost…raunchy. Physically showing any emotion is frowned upon and such a motion is only between bonded and children. It becomes inappropriate between siblings and close friends when the eldest is ten or older, unless there is certainty of death.”

“You and Spock…”

“Once,” Michael’s face melts slightly, wistful. “He taught me the _ta’al_ , skin to skin. It didn’t occur to me until I felt his reciprocated wonder. I didn’t mention it, though. He was a child; I hurt him deeply, not later. Not exactly this, but close enough.”

“So, holding hands would be a declaration of a sappy, feelings-full relationship?” He clarifies, realising that while Michael might be human, she grew up in this culture she’s describing and from her previous expression, might not have realised until now just how much that impacted her. _I’ll keep it low-key,_ Chris thinks to himself as Michael nods.

“I’ve never even seen my parents hold hands, except with gloves on,” Michael reveals.

“We should practice, then.” Chris flexes his wrist before offering his whole hand this time, watching as Michael looks at it in apprehension. He gives her as much time as she needs, following the slow journey of her hand slipping into his, grip extremely loose. “There,” he says encouragingly. “How old were you, may I ask, when you came to live with the ambassador and his wife?”

“Nearly eleven,” Michael tells him. Her vision is focused on their combined limbs, her hands testing various combinations, fingers wiggling between his and swapping direction. It’s almost childlike, but Chris has a feeling she’s cataloguing everything for future reference. Chris joins in after a second, indulging the childishness in himself.

Eventually, though, Michael lets go of his hand. “Thank-you, sir.”

“Chris,” he reminds her.

“Thank-you, _Christopher_ ,” Michael’s eyes brighten, lips tugging up into a smile. Chris matches her, beaming. “For respecting my traditions. For doing this.”

“Commander Burnham – _Michael_ ,” Chris bows his head slightly, leaning in. “It would be my honour. Till the admiralty due us part.”

Michael lets out a snort of laughter, repeating after him, “Till the admiralty due us part.”


	3. part iii

Acting more like a Vulcan – or ‘clamming up’, as some people have called it, in the past – is easier for Michael on Acamar II than she thought it would be. The sun is rising in the west and she’s wearing some of her only traditional Vulcan-wear on _Discovery_ – a forest-green dress over a long black shirt. It makes Chris’ periodic glances make more sense, because he’s never seen her like this before. He would have.

He would have, if not for the chaperones.

Yesterday, they had gone down onto Acamar II to give their consent and explain the situation, only for the Acamarians to each assign them a chaperone from each tribe who would be reprising their roles later with the Clan Heirs. They had swiftly separated them both, according to Gaddidi tradition, keeping hawk-like eyes on their correspondences throughout the following evening and night and sleeping at their bedsides.

Michael had concluded upon meeting in the shuttle bay that her captain had been unable to speak to the admiralty, because to do so would also be revealing the sham to their chaperones – though she lives in hope that he assigned Saru the job, subtly. Chris still looks tense and it shows with less difficulty in plain civilian clothes than it does in uniform, his shoulders hunched and his hands clasped tightly behind his back.

“We’ve compiled information on weddings according to the human customs from Captain Pike’s family,” Chris’ Dira chaperone tells her counterpart on Michael’s team – a woman called Riranni.

“Vulcan weddings are little more than handfastings with ancient words,” Riranni tells them, to Michael’s sufferance – though she doesn’t let it show past a slight tightening of her jaw. Chris’ brow still furrows.

“Please do not disrespect her culture,” Chris requests in a hard voice. Riranni startles and Michael’s Gaddidi chaperone pales, touching Michael’s elbow.

“Honoured Bride, I apologise for her insults.”

Michael is already extricating herself from their company, stepping around Riranni nearer to Chris.

“Don’t touch her,” Chris advises, before lightly taking Michael’s hand. It’s unexpected, so she startles, flushing without meaning to. Chris winks at her. “Touching is only between loved ones and family.”

“Indeed,” Michael murmurs, looking anywhere but Chris or the Acamarians. Near her feet is a dry shrub, a lizard-like creature curled up at its base. It has no fear of people or civilisation, it seems. Michael wonders why.

“You shall be quartered in each of the diplomatic tents,” Badura tells them across the short distance from where they parked, waving them over lazily. The group make their way over, the chaperones quiet in the wake of their conversation. “The Commander will be managed by the Gaddidi, it has been agreed upon, to represent Clan Heir Danta. The Captain shall represent Clan Heir Vezerins of the Dira.”

“Honoured Ones,” Sah bows his head. “We shall first discuss privately what you each wish from this wedding today, then come together in council, two tribes as one, to decide upon the final plan. As you may understand, we have already come to a… _compromise_ , as you suggested, separating you before your wedding as the Gaddidi do and bringing you together once more, as do the Dira.”

“You may speak freely during these discussions,” Badura says. “This is your wedding – no matter the intentions here today that mean a furtherance of our alliance, remember that. This is _your_ wedding.”

“Thank-you kindly,” Chris inclines his neck slightly, before turning to Michael. He raises her wrist to his mouth, kissing her knuckles. “My lady.”

“My captain,” Michael replies in turn before they separate, the chaperones at their backs like honour guards. Entering the Gaddidi tent, she is sat down in a circle of short benches covered in satins and pillows.

Once Michael is settled, the privacy barrier is brought up, the yellow light looking more orange from the inside of the pale blue tent.

“Honoured Bride, if you could describe a Vulcan wedding in as much detail as possible, so that we may adapt our cultures to suit,” Clan Leader Sah says graciously, seating himself on the circle across from her. Michael shifts before sitting up straighter, keeping her voice level.

“Love matches are uncommon on Vulcan. Arranged marriages are preferable, made at age eight. As such, the weddings are planned in advance by decades, sometimes. Vulcan’s live longer than Humans,” Michael describes, carefully avoiding the existence of the dreaded _Pon Farr_. “The engaged couple are brought out into the desert separately, their Houses summoned to attend them and any acquaintances the couple may wish to invite, all in warrior dress, ringing bells. This includes family, professors, old school friends and colleagues. There’s a firepit in the centre of the Vulcan Forge where my family wed.”

“Do you wish for any guests?” Sah asks her. Michael shakes her head.

“As Christopher described, we are in a tentative position, career-wise. We can always have a renewal ceremony at a better time.”

One of the council members straightens. “Renewal ceremony? But if your marriage is strong, there is no need for renewal!”

“But is a marriage also not a celebration? If those we love cannot or should not come to our first marriage, then our second shall be our chance to have them witness our declarations,” Michael persuades, the council member clearly thinking this over. She continues with her description – skipping to the binding. “The higher-ranked Vulcan bangs the gong to begin the ceremony, then their hands are bound together with the cloth of the higher House, which in this case is mine, unless Chris is descended from royalty.”

“This cloth, what does it look like? Is the gong of a specific note?”

“It is traditionally seven by one feet in diameter, embroidered in Ancient Golic and often a family heirloom that has bound previous generations together. Such things have value in Vulcan culture.” Michael recalls the cloth of Sarek’s House, made from faded, centuries-old scarlet fabric with gold scripture around its edges. “My family’s cloth is light-years away.”

“We shall endeavour to make this Sacred Cloth, if we are able to bargain it into the ceremony,” Sah says, before inclining, “and this gong?”

“It’s less important. But a sound must begin the ceremony, stopping the bells that the guests hold. It could be a drum-beat or even a short word from the officiant,” Michael says, shrugging. “The couple kneel and the officiant faces the flames, with the couple between them. They bind their hands with the cloth, say the traditional words and then, the lesser economically-inclined Vulcan’s parents or an equivalent gives them into the other’s family. It’s doesn’t last long. The couple are then released to do as they will.”

Sah waits for her to continue, frowning slightly. “There is no food? No celebratory music?”

“There is food given to the couple,” Michael states evasively – she’s only ever attended three weddings and all were Pon Farr-related. Once the binding was done, the guests left, leaving the Vulcan pairs there in the sand to do…well, to do _each other._ Michael only knows there’s food left behind for the couple because the female partner doesn’t have the luck to have Pon Farr sustaining their system.

“Anything special?”

“Nothing special. Nourishing things. Water. Soup. Bread.”

“Thank-you, Honoured Bride,” Sah looks to his scribe, who nods quickly, having written it down on a PADD on hand. “Might there be anything else you are missing? Forgetting? Are there any decorations? What do _you_ wear?”

“Something easily ripped off,” Michael says without thinking too much about what’s escaping her mouth. Sah’s thin eyes go wide, nose and ears turning pink. “Form-fitting,” Michael says after a moment, wincing to herself. “More of a cocktail dress than a wedding dress, according to Human tradition. My House colours are black, purple and lilac.”

“Black is no good in this sun – accents, perhaps?” Another council member asks Michael, eyes glued to her own PADD. Michael stretches her neck, seeing several colour images of cocktail dresses. “Form-fitting, as you said…knee-length…there are several different bust-lines here.”

“A high-collar, please and long sleeves,” Michael requests, motioning to herself. “Vulcans wear modest clothing that doesn’t show skin, usually. Bonding dresses…”

Michael tries to remember the weddings. To be honest, she was a little freaked out by the blatant lust radiating off of the men and didn’t look much – but the brides had looked spectacular in their House colours. She can distinctly remember seeing legs, however.

“The skirts aren’t connected at the sides,” Michael coughs and she has a feeling from the council member who seems to be taking her measurements with her eyes, that the Gaddidi are starting to guess that Vulcan’s are a bit more handsy with their spouses than they are untactile usually.

“We have similar styles for function dresses amongst the young ones,” the council member assures her. “We can adapt something to your specifications this afternoon. Your fiancé?”

“Thank-you and- and I don’t mind what he wants,” Michael says, choking slightly before Sah nods.

“Is that all, Honoured Bride? I understand that most cultures have an appropriation to our event jewellery,” Sah fingers the wedding ring pierced through his cheek.

“On Vulcan? No. Vulcans by blood are telepathic and a spousal mind-link is established by the officiant. As a psi-null Human by birth, I have no ability with the mind arts.”

“Would the Human equivalent be something you would allow?” Sah questions carefully, glancing back over his shoulder to the crimson Dira tent. “Rings, perhaps?”

“Perhaps our conversation should shift somewhat,” Michael decides to redirect, a flash of a scene drifting through her head where the one thing Sah and Badura can’t agree on is jewellery versus tattoos. “Imagine I’m the representative of Clan Heir Vezerins, who wants a marking of some kind.”

“Jewellery is traditional,” Sah insists, less calm than before.

“So are tattoos,” Michael points out, trying to imagine what Vezerins might say. “And jewellery is often made of certain alloys which others may be allergic to. They’re also a way to be detected by sensors.”

Clan Leader Sah gnashes his pointed teeth. “You are not Clan Heir Vezerins.”

“This is the mock-arrangement. In fact, it may be an even better idea that you _do_ speak to Vezerins, rather than Danta,” Michael pushes. “How are you going to find out how to adapt your culture to the Dira’s if you don’t have private talks with the Honoured Groom himself? And aren’t the markings able to be modified? Designed? Clan Heirs Danta and Vezerins could have a symbol of the alliance painted on their faces for all to see. Rings can be taken out.”

“And alliances can be ended,” Sah murmurs darkly to himself before nodding. “Your point is made. Tattoos, not rings. For your own wedding?”

Michael smiles thinly. “Non-permanent tattoos – in the way of the Dira-Gaddidi.”

When the private meetings end, Michael and Chris sit opposite each other, eight metres of dust between them. Sah outlines a Vulcan wedding and Michael’s requests and in turn, Badura argues for Chris’ traditions and choices. It’s an interesting discussion.

Michael discovers that Chris wants a wedding in their number one uniform – of which, Michael believes he isn’t aware of, for _Discovery_ means the usual set of blues with some added badges and awards on their lapels. He also wants a speech from a priest, rings and a set of vows between the bride and groom – declarations of love, in other words.

He also wants a kiss.

Briefly, when it comes to that, Sah turns to Michael. “Is a kiss amenable in Vulcan culture? It is common amongst many weddings throughout the galaxy.”

Michael weighs her options, seeing Chris across from her watching her with unblinking eyes. He gestures to her lightly, lowering his chin as if to say, _do what you wish._

Michael thinks, _we’re trying to sell this,_ knowing that the tribes are watching them. She smiles slightly.

“It would be amenable, provided our hands are bound in the Vulcan way,” she states.

“Agreed upon,” Badura says. “What will this cloth look like?”

“Plain is fine,” Michael shakes her head. “Seven by one foot in diameter, from whatever fibre you wish. It’s the thoughts that count.”

“Literally,” Sah mutters to her under his breath, gaining a short laugh out of her. The discussion moves swiftly – Michael doesn’t realise until she looks at a nearby clock that it’s nearly noon. She’s suddenly ravenous. Badura is the one to offer food, sharing with Sah’s tent, the both of them unusually calm and slightly confused as they break bread together for the first time during a diplomatic meeting.

The final decision is this. The wedding will take place at sundown with an entrance of music. There will be no gong, but a firepit will light the way to the centre of their circular stage and while Chris shall wear his number one uniform with a lilac sash tied around his waist, Michael will be in a deep purple dress, a lilac gauze draped across her shoulders like a cape and black boots. Ancient Golic will be recited by someone that can mimic tongues, before an officiant will take over the ceremony to finish off their verbal agreement of marriage in Federation Standard.

No-one shall give Chris away to Michael. In a strange way, Michael finds herself disturbed by that – in a normal wedding, it would make all of Michael’s assets and her name Chris’, providing him political capital, support and allies within her father’s House. Even _T’Pau_ would be inclined to take his side in matters, over another Vulcan.

There will be a kiss over their bound hands and semi-permanent tattoos will be inked onto the highest part of their cheekbones, in the shape of a constellation they both agree on from the Beta quadrant. Then, they shall flee with a picnic back to their supposedly shared quarters on _Discovery_ – Chris’ room, the bigger and un-shared one.

“So you can have sex,” Badura drawls with a grin. Chris flushes and Michael can’t help but wonder if he blushes across his chest, too.

 _Stop,_ she orders herself once she realises what she just thought. She looks staunchly away from his pink cheeks, the unbuttoned collar of his pale shirt and the bare arms – which really, _really_ , she doesn’t understand how she didn’t notice before. _Ash looks like a weed, in comparison; and that hair…Tilly would call him a silver fox if she weren’t so nervous even thinking about a new captain._

Michael sweats a little, realising with a start that she’s attracted to Christopher Pike.


	4. Chapter 4

Tilly is half-asleep when she returns.

“Michael? What happened?” she mumbles, looking up between her lashes and her thick auburn curls. When she sees what Michael is wearing, she sits up on her elbow. “Michael? Did you go to a party?”

Michael laughs hoarsely, itching to rub her cheek. She can feel the newly-healed skin like a rash. “Something like that.”

“What about the Acamarians?”

“Set to marry their Heirs tomorrow afternoon,” Michael says, not even caring that Tilly’s watching her as she strips off her purple dress, feeling the soft fabric and wanting to throw it. _I’m married. Someone is my husband._

“How did you do it?”

“I am honestly exhausted, Tilly,” Michael tells her, hauling on tracksuit bottoms and a DISCO shirt. Her mind is full of images of Chris, his fate lit by hearth-light. She could almost convince herself she was in the Vulcan Forge with the mimic beside them, speaking in the ancient Vulcan language that her society had long evolved past. “It’s hard to explain, anyway.”

“I’m sure it’s not that hard,” Tilly says, frowning. “Are you okay? What’s that on your face? Is-” Tilly’s eyes widen. “Is that an Acamarian tattoo? What did you do to get _that?_ They wouldn’t just give a mediator a tat.”

Michael sits on her bed, cracking her back. Tilly is wide awake and Michael…Michael wishes she was out on the sand, dress torn off and having the ride of her life. Her heart heaves with guilt. She shouldn’t want her captain like this. The marriage is a sham – they agreed on it. The admiralty will divorce them, if someone isn’t already shouting at Chris in the ready room for marrying his subordinate.

_They’re part of the Federation. We signed the license before we even got dressed today. So **stupid**._

“Michael, your face is kind of worrying me,” Tilly bites her lip.

“…how many other people know about tattoos?”

“Uh, well, we all got a packet because of the diplomatic mission,” Tilly winces as Michael winces. “You really don’t want anyone to know what happened today, do you?”

“It’ll be obvious tomorrow,” Michael mutters, already thinking of the gossip, the stares, the indignant mutters…how many will think she took advantage of the Acamarians today, just to get hitched to their Captain?

_This was a mistake._

Michael rubs her eyes, looking at Tilly dead-on. “I married the Captain, today.”

Tilly gawks. “You married _who?_ ”

“Chris. He’s now officially Captain Christopher Burnham of the U.S.S. _Enterprise_.” Michael should have known as soon as she said she was the higher-ranked spouse to Sah, it would mean Chris’ name changing. “He’s _definitely_ going to be contacted by the admiralty.”

“Fucking shit, Michael,” Tilly gasps. “Have you guys been in a relationship this entire time?”

“No. It was a sham to make the Acamarians work together. Except, I think I like him now, Tilly or I did before and I just wasn’t understanding it properly.”

Her friend immediately rushes over to her bed, nearly falling over as she gets her legs tangled up in the sheets. Her arm wraps around her shoulders and Michael settles into it, in turmoil and in no mood to keep her courtesies tonight surrounding touch, acting like a child in seek of comfort.

“You have a different chemistry than you did with Ash, Mikey,” Tilly croons. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of. You said it yourself to me before, you’ve never been with someone except Ash.”

“But Chris is my _husband_. It’s a bit of a leap from crush to spouse. I didn’t even realise I liked him,” Michael stares at her hands. “He’s _good_ and _selfless_. He came back for me on the U.S.S. _Hiawatha_ without even thinking. I think he’d do that for anyone he was captain of. What do I do, Tilly? I just married the man.”

Tilly strokes her head, not saying much for a short while, until she says, “Want me to tell people the real story, so you don’t have to? Fake marriage isn’t something to laugh at, especially when it was for the benefit of two warring tribes.”

Michael lets out a snort of laughter. “About the only thing that worked. Vezerins and Danta are going to be in the opposite Clan’s tent organising their wants and needs. Our discussion was nearly done by noon. I bet theirs will take longer – but I bet it’ll still happen. We’re remaining in orbit until after the ceremony. The entire senior Bridge crew have been invited.”

“We have?” Tilly perks up briefly, before her enthusiasm falters. “But in dress uniform, right?”

“Yeah,” Michael confirms. “You get to wear your star, Sylvia.”

Tilly giggles. “You’ll help me pin it on, right?”

“I will, I promise,” Michael murmurs.

* * *

On the other side of the ship, Christopher Pike faces his most senior officer. Saru is far from impressed, watching him pace in the meeting room he’s commandeered after asking him away from the conn. Chris doesn’t want to look at him, in case he sees judgement. The wedding is flashing before his eyes. Michael’s kiss was sweet and he still wants more.

“Your personnel file states your married name is _Burnham_ ,” Saru finally interrupts, showing him a PADD. Chris startles, zooming in on it. He takes it, reading Admiral Cornwell’s personal note in an adjacent textbox.

**_As Cpt. Pike is currently temporarily serving with his spouse upon the U.S.S._ DISCOVERY _(NCC-1031), unless requested once his captaincy has been transferred back to the U.S.S._ ENTERPRISE _(NCC-1701), Cpt. Pike shall remain known as Cpt. Pike in favour of his married name, Cpt. Burnham. – ADMIRAL K. CORNWELL, Stardate 232/1037.756-2257_**

“She…approves of it?” Chris stares bleakly, looking up at Saru, who is less than approving. “What am I going to tell Michael?”

“You’re going to tell her that the legal amount of time one has to be married before divorce after the correct documents are signed – _which they are_ – is eight months.”

“ _Oh,_ ” Chris says, eyes wide.

Saru rolls his, standing and leaning over him angrily. “Yes, _oh_. Did it never even enter either of your minds? Michael Burnham is my friend and if this was solely her own idiocy, then I might feel a small amount of pity: but you are our _captain_ , Christopher Pike.” Saru sniffs. “I have to get back to the Bridge, _sir._ ”

The shame wells up inside of him as Saru turns away and he blurts out, “I…I asked you here because I think I might actually like her.”

Saru stops still. His head twitches, before he turns back – his movements would remind Chris of a cat if that weren’t very _slightly_ xenophobic. Saru blinks his pale blue eyes, staring at Chris, watching him become more flustered by the second.

“…oh my,” he murmurs, turning back to him. “You really do. I must say, it’s…odd, to have someone appreciate her like this. Michael is like a sister to me and I grew to trust Acting-Commander Tyler, before his betrayal came to light. He was the only one I have ever seen her like in this fashion.”

“Well, please, as pseudo-brother and her friend, would you tell me if I’m being an idiot actually liking her?” Chris begs, swallowing deeply. He’d acted close to her, smiling at her, holding her hand and pretending to be her fiancé. “She’s my wife and I barely know her.”

“That _is_ your own fault,” Saru points out quietly, before seating himself back down, motioning to one of the many spare chairs around the conference table. Chris sits down with a _thump_. “What do you know of Michael’s relationship with Tyler? Because as it was her first one, it is important.”

Chris’ expression twists immediately as he thinks of the brash, angry man under the command of Section 31. _I’m glad he’s off my ship until we get back to Kaminar,_ he thinks dully, clenching his jaw.

“There was a beginning and an end to their relationship,” Saru tells him, eyes like hawks. “The beginning was slow and the end, quick. She could not trust him when he did not even know himself; when he chose the Klingon Chancellor over her and his Klingon side.”

“Wait, the Klingon _Chancellor?_ ” Chris splutters.

“Indeed. Ash Tyler was once Voq, the Torchbearer for the Light of Kahless,” Saru explains. “When his memories returned, he was…conflicted. He still is, I believe. He is a Klingon inside a Human, with fake memories that he once wished were real. Section Thirty-One is using him to their own ends now, while my own contacts tell me that the Chancellor beheaded her hybrid lover for murdering their son.”

“…what?”

Saru waves it off. “The important thing to know is that Michael’s only relationship has been with a very conflicted person who continues to barge in on her life. Now that we are returning to Kaminar’s orbit to investigate the energy source Starfleet detected, no doubt Acting-Commander Tyler shall return. Michael shall likely face her fellow crew at a disadvantage, Tyler especially.”

“So…” Chris starts, “so what you’re saying is that I should talk to Michael about this before he returns and finds out himself.”

“I would talk to Michael,” Saru agrees, before treading carefully. “Then inform the crew. The crew can then subtly work the truth into conversation when we wish. Control the flow of information.”

Chris looks at the Kelpien, impressed. “Commander,” he starts, “you’re really becoming someone new, aren’t you?”

Saru startles, hand rising up to the back of his neck. “Vahar’ai, it-”

“It looks good on you, Saru,” Chris smiles, watching his commander bluster briefly, ducking his head in embarrassment. Standing up, he claps a hand on the Kelpien’s shoulder. “So, what room do Michael and Ensign Tilly live in?”


	5. part v

The request to enter her apartment is surprising. Tilly bounces up to answer it, but her arms are crossed over her chest as the door slides open. She glares at their captain as Michael white-knuckles the bedspread.

“What do you want with Michael?”

Chris raises his hands. “My intentions are pure. Ask Saru if you don’t believe me. May I talk to Michael, Ensign?”

Tilly narrow her eyes, glancing backwards. Michael meets eyes with Chris and sees something there.

“Let him in,” she say in a low voice. Tilly steps back out of the way, arms still crossed as the door shuts behind him. Chris steps up, kneeling in front of her. He’s still in his dress one’s – unlike Michael, he hasn’t had the chance to change yet. “Hello, Captain.”

“Chris, please,” he asks quietly.

“…Chris,” Michael says, gaze flickering to Tilly. She uncrosses her arms, walking further into their room towards the bathroom, pausing before she goes inside.

“No canoodling! Or fucking, either!”

Chris sends her a startled look, but Tilly has already entered the bathroom and locked the door. Michael chuckles, used to Tilly’s antics.

“You heard her,” she says teasingly.

“That I did,” Chris looks back at her, still knelt in front of her. “Michael,” he says, “it seems the admiralty are congratulatory instead of disciplinary, today. Admiral Cornwell approved the paperwork.”

Michael slight smile dims. _Approved._ But what does that mean?

“I’m only the temporary captain, as Kat pointed out on my file. I expect she’ll be wanting to chat, soon,” he explains, giving her an apologetic look. “I’m sorry. I know this wasn’t meant to me permanent, for you.”

Michael swallows, nodding. She can see the tattoo on his cheekbone, meant to match hers. She selfishly hopes it does. “What do you want to do?” she asks.

“Me?” he blinks. “I…” Chris falls silent and Michael can hear the humming of electronics, Tilly humming to herself in the bathroom and everything but Chris speaking.

“Captain,” Michael starts, deciding to come clean, “this may sound inappropriate, but…I’d like to stay married to you.”

Chris stares in surprise. “You do?”

Michael looks away, embarrassed. “You’re a good person. We both joined Starfleet for a reason…” _you look incredible and I want to know who would have given you away. I want to know who your family is, how you grew up, why you wanted a priest – I want to know everything about you._ But Michael doesn’t say these things out loud, so she’s surprised when he takes her wrist gently and touches his opposite two fingers to hers.

Michael flushes with the force of a sun.

“ _Christopher_ ,” she whispers under her breath, taking his hand tightly within her own. It feels taboo, even so far from home. Her captain smiles widely, before he reaches up to her face, stroking the blue constellation there and grasping her jaw lightly. Michael leans forwards, their lips pressing against each others and it’s very different from the kiss on Acamar II.

At the wedding, Michael had always felt two steps behind, her heart racing and her blood pumping. _I’m getting married_ pounded through her brain. Chris’ hand clenched around hers beneath the wound cloth had been the first piece of clarity and she hadn’t dared take her eyes off of him. Michael had stared – hadn’t even listened to the Vulcan phrases that would command her life with Christopher Pike – and he had stared back.

They had kissed, mouths pressed to mouths; it was too short and the applause radiating from around the desert had distracted her from everything she was feeling inside.

Michael kisses him now and their conjoined hands – the same ones bound under cloth – and the faded touch on her constellation tattoo keep her in the moment. Chris’ lips are inviting and full and as her tongue darts out, she presses them close together because she can hear the moan rising up in his throat. Everything is hypersonic and she _drags_ him between her legs, her free hand going to his hair while the other becomes locked in place between their chests.

“Michael,” she hears him groan before Tilly coughs pointedly from inside the bathroom.

“ _No fucking allowed while I’m in the bathroom!”_

Unwillingly, their lips part and Michael is breathing heavily – but it’s nothing compared to that adorable pink glow to Chris’ cheeks. Her hand cards through his dark and silver hair before brushing down to his shirt, tugging it slightly.

“Michael?” Chris breathes and _he does_. Michael kisses him softly, lips upon lips, smiling widely. _He blushes down his chest._ “Is- you- I-”

“I want you,” Michael tells him, cradling his hand against her chest, feeling a warmth inside. “I would like to _know_ you, Christopher.”

“Just, well… _biblically?_ Or…”

Michael tugs at his shirt again, before folding over the fabric onto the other side. “Maybe. Not tonight,” she says, to make that clear. “We barely know each other, as much as I would like to. There may be a connection between us, but I want to explore that. Explore what we could be together.”

“It’s not like the admiralty’s giving us any trouble,” Chris murmurs, nodding. He squeezes her hand, brushing his thumb over lip. “We have to be married eight months before we can get a divorce, anyway. That’s enough time, right? Eight months?”

“That sounds about right,” Michael smiles at him, pressing both her hands to his, now. The contact is _something_ to her, psychologically. Chris seems to have considered that. He still traces her face, somewhat and when the quiet goes on a little too long, Tilly calls out for them to stop making out.

Chris pipes up, “If we were, we wouldn’t do it here!”

“ _Good! I mean- good that you wouldn’t sacrifice the purity of our room, Captain, because sex is bad! Yep, totally!_ ”

Michael gently pulls Chris to his feet, knowing that Tilly actually means the first part of that – they came to an agreement that neither of them can have partners in their shared bedroom, though Tilly was usually the one away. “You can come out now, Tilly.”

“ _Oh, thank god._ ” She exits, pausing at the sight of them both standing so close together, Michael still holding his hand. Something seems to flicker through her mind, about to exit her mouth when she frowns, shaking her head at herself.

“What?” Michael asks her.

“Something stupid – you’ve never even slept together before,” Tilly pauses, “Have you?”

“No.”

“Not yet.”

Tilly hesitates, before giving them a small dual thumbs-up. “Congrats? It’s Burnham squared on board, now.”

“Burnham squared,” Chris chuckles, grinning at Michael. “She’s right, you know.”

“I do know.” Michael nods. “How long until our family’s notice, do you think?”

Chris looks slightly daunted. “My mothers will kill me for not inviting them, then raid the wine cellar. My dads might cry. They’ll only get told when I tell them. What about you?”

Michael goes to say _the same_ , except belatedly, something occurs to her and it must show on her face. Chris frowns.

“Michael?”

“The Ancient Golic. I didn’t even question how they got it…” Michael looks at him, wide-eyed. “They must have contacted the Vulcan embassy and used my name.”

Chris’ expression matches her. “The embassy. Which your father belongs to.”

“My parents probably already know,” Michael says, appalled at the concept. _What will they think of me? I didn’t even come home or get permission to bring Chris into our House…_ “Oh, this is going to be bad.”

Tilly giggles, quickly apologising. “Sorry, sorry…it’s just a little funny, is all. You’re going to have to pretend you were in a relationship the entire time, or your parents are just gonna get it annulled anyway.”

“Can they?” Chris questions, alarmed.

“I’m technically a Vulcan citizen,” Michael admits. “We’re married in Starfleet’s register, but my parents could block the paperwork from their end. It’d be a bureaucratic nightmare.”

“We really didn’t think this through, did we?” Chris questions quietly, sighing. “We thought we could just get in and get out.”

“Married. Divorced. Yeah,” Michael says as they fall into a contemplative silence. Tilly slowly inching her way back to her bed forces Michael to speak. “We need to talk and let Tilly sleep.”

“Thanks,” Tilly flashes her a quick smile before Chris tugs Michael gently towards the door.

“We can speak in my quarters,” he says softly.

“Alright,” Michael replies, before they leave with _good night_ s being shared around between them all. Random crewmembers look at them both oddly, though Michael is their primary target – it’s the lack of shoes, most likely, or maybe the lock she has on the captain’s hand.

“Sleepwalking,” Chris assures someone Michael recognises from engineering asks about her. He doesn’t seem to notice they’re not going in the direction of her quarters. They end up sitting on Chris’ sofa, Michael curled up with a blanket and Chris having gotten changed into his own pyjamas.

“Did you have any pets?” he asks her, out of the blue.

“I had insect farms, as a child,” Michael tells him, recalling them with fondness. “When I came to Vulcan, Spock had a pet sehlat that I was terrified of, until he died protecting Spock. Then I just felt guilty I never liked him.”

“I am not going to ask what a sehlat is,” Chris chuckles, relaxing back. “I had horses. Mary-Lou and Tango. Most beautiful steeds you ever could see. I used to muck out their stables and do all my chores in the barn before I ever got around to doing my homework.”

“That sounds lovely,” Michael says, genuinely.

“Thank-you,” Chris smiles, before saying, “You probably heard me talk about my mothers and dads, before. I have siblings, too. Get that jelly in your head ready, because I’m about to release a lot of names.”

Michael listens, committing them all to memory and wondering at the Pike brood. She tells him about having met her older adoptive brother, Sybok, Spock’s fully-Vulcan half brother from Sarek’s previous marriage. Neither of them had gotten on with Sybok, not understanding his ideals or beliefs.

“He was a zealot, according to Amanda,” Michael describes. “But it was well before her time.”

“I’m sorry,” Chris offers in turn.

They talk well into Gamma shift before eventually calling it a night. Chris offers her his bed, swearing decency and Michael takes him up on it. There might even have been an attempt to cuddle up – one that might have worked, if the heavy limb around her waist in the morning is anything to go by, Chris breath tickling her neck.

“Time to face the music,” he mutters when an alarm goes off, telling him to get ready for Alpha shift. Michael is lucky – she’s scheduled for consecutive Beta and Gamma shifts, rather than split between Alpha and Gamma like Chris. “You can stay here, if you like.”

“I’ll probably get something to eat,” Michael tells him, refreshed enough to wait. “We didn’t even eat that picnic.”

“I left it in the transporter room,” Chris tells her in amusement as he heads for a sonic shower. “If it hasn’t already been eaten, then go on right ahead without me.”

Michael chuckles as he disappears through the door, getting up and realising her poor planning from last night has left her without spare clothes and without a spare PADD.

“Computer,” she calls out, rubbing her eyes of sand. “Is Ensign Tilly on shift?”

“ _Ensign Tilly will be going on Alpha shift in thirty-two minutes._ ”

“Right,” Michael mutters, before getting up and deciding to fake a morning run to her room, hoping casual sight-seers won’t notice her bare feet – logically, knowing that her entire appearance is haphazard from sleep and that luck doesn’t exist. She knocks on the bathroom door, waiting for Chris’ response before telling him she’s leaving.

People stare, of course. Owosekun off duty even stops her in the hallway, asking if she’s alright – and asking what the stuff is on her face. While Michael isn’t doing the walk of shame, it feels like it in that moment.

“Got caught up last night, didn’t make it back from a friend’s,” she lies, before heading off, knowing that Owo isn’t the type of person to keep that to herself. No doubt the rest of the Bridge crew not on duty would know by Beta shift.

Tilly is gone when she gets there, because Tilly goes to work early. Michael is glad for it as she washes and changes, going out to the mess hall for breakfast. Only, the moment she gets there, an announcement for the entire Bridge crew and Department heads – on and off-duty – rings through the system from Chris himself, for them all to meet in his ready-room.

 _This is it,_ Michael tells herself, _because I forgot about the Acamarian wedding and they’ll tell all to the Bridge crew who are going down for the ceremony tonight._

Michael steadies herself. She skips breakfast and goes to the ready-room, hands clasped behind her back as she stands a little off to the side, Saru joining her. He raises his eyebrow and Michael looks away.

Eventually, the Bridge crew assembles, the secondary team who take rotation when they aren’t there manning _Discovery_ without them. Michael sees Owosekun glancing at her out of the corner of her eye, squinting slightly and murmuring to Detmer at her side, whose cybernetic implants will easily be able to document the constellation on her skin.

Chris is standing a little off-centre, his own tattoo in shadows. Likely, only Saru and Michael know it’s there, unless the active Bridge staff have seen it in the last ten minutes he’s been on duty.

“Is that everyone?” he asks. At mumbling of agreement, he nods.

“Captain, why have we been called here?” Stamets questions, clearly off the end of his shift and tired as hell.

“Well, first, we’ve all been invited to the Dira-Gaddidi wedding at the start of Gamma shift, when the sun sets on Acamar Two,” Chris says, waiting for them to take that in before continuing. “The diplomatic mission was a success and in the process, Commander Burnham got married to her fiancé.”

Commander Nhan, who had been drinking coffee with dead eyes, chokes, spit-taking as she abruptly wakes up properly. Culber rubs her back, while Owosekun gasps.

“You were doing the walk of shame!” she cries, “Oh my god, Michael, I thought you’d been _drugged_.”

“Just by love, apparently,” Saru glares lightly at Chris, who puts his hands up so _very_ briefly before clearing his throat, apparently about to identify that fiancé. Michael beats him to it.

“Captain Pike’s married name is Burnham, now.”

It takes less than a moment for them to react.

_“Holy shit-”_

_“What?”_

_“When did you have time to hook up with Pike?”_

_“You were doing the walk of shame with the captain, oh my god-”_

Saru snaps, “Enough.” The room falls silent and Michael glances at Chris, lip twitching at his _damnably_ adorable blush.

“The captain and I hadn’t planned on revealing ourselves so soon. By a crafty choice of words, the Acamarians spun me into a corner where I ended up admitting I had a fiancé,” Michael explains. “Our intention wasn’t to get married so quickly. Yes, you’re all invited to the renewal ceremony with our families. No, we wouldn’t have told you any sooner than this if we had the choice and for that, I’m sorry.”

“The Acamarians used the…used _our_ wedding as a trial-run, for their own allied negotiations. It formed the basis of their negotiations today, for the wedding of Clan Heirs Danta and Vezerins,” Chris says. “As such, they are not going to war, because we got hitched. Any questions?”

Tilly sticks her hand up briefly, enthusiasm obvious, “I do! Michael – can I be your bridesmaid in your renewal ceremony, if that’s really happening?”

“We’ll see, Tilly,” Michael says fondly.

“This is just _chipper,_ ” Stamets mutters, squinting at Michael. “How did neither of you get into trouble with-”

“The admiralty?” Michael and Chris say as one, Chris giving Stamets a smile.

“Admiral Cornwell is a fan, apparently. She cleared it a few hours after we signed the documents. Now we’re waiting on Vulcan. Turns out her parents might know before we’re ready to inform them and could block some things. It’s all really fascinating.”

Stamets makes a face. “That’s wrong.”

“Agreed,” Saru frowns at Michael. “Perhaps you should go see them in person. Were you not heading to find Commander Spock on Vulcan soil before our untimely diversion?”

“I was,” Michael glances at Chris, who nods. “I probably still will be.”

“Which is another thing,” Chris mutters, looking to Saru. “I may be temporary captain, but I still hold the Chair. Commander, if you could take responsibility for Commander Burnham in my stead – I believe the term here is ‘compromised’.”

Saru inclines his head. “Of course, Captain.”

“Good,” Chris replies, before nodding to the group as a collective. “Thank-you for coming up here. We’d appreciate it if no-one outside of this room on _Discovery_ knows, until we know more about the legalities.”

_“Aye.”_

_“Aye, Captain.”_

_“Yes, sir.”_

_“Sir.”_

“Dismissed,” Chris says, straightening towards them so his constellation is finally visible. More than a few visibly stop to stare at it, the bright blue vibrant and clearly matching Michael’s own. In the end though, they leave, Michael staying put until even Saru is gone. Chris approaches her, raising an eyebrow.

“Wife,” he greets.

“Husband,” Michael greets in turn. They share a snicker or two, before Michael offers her hand. Chris takes it, squeezing lightly. They stand in silence for a few moments, arms swinging a little.

“They took that well,” Chris says eventually.

“They did,” Michael replies, “and they’re probably under the impression we’re having sex in your ready-room.”

Chris bursts out into laughter, tugging her close to press a short kiss to her lips so casually, Michael almost blinks and misses it. Only her eyes trying to slide shut and the pressure alerts her to the fact that it actually happened.

“Wife,” he says, quieter. “I think I’m going to enjoy this marriage.”

“You know what…” Michael says, looking up at him. “So do I.”


	6. part vi

When Dr Gabrielle Burnham lands in her Red Angel timesuit, her most Imperial Majesty, Mother of the Fatherland, Overlord of Vulcan, Dominus of Qo’noS, Regina Andor, Philippa Georgiou Augustus Iaponius Centarius does not think much of Leland’s little device. The Sphere data will be within reach if she transfers it to Section 31 and while it was degrading to be psychoanalysed, Leland was incorrect with his final assumption.

Philippa has not been supplanted. Rather, Philippa doubts she holds an ounce of the regard Michael even holds for Amanda Grayson, let alone her own mother. But revenge can be petty at times.

Then, after glancing at a PADD screen, Gabrielle Burnham blatantly demands to know what happened on Acamar II to push the timeline back a whole fifty-six days.

Philippa pauses. She forgets about the device in her pocket. _Acamar II_. The Acamarians were a brutal race in her universe, always at war with each other; _Discovery_ was assigned to that planet only recently. She knows they stopped whatever fight was going on. She does not know, however, how their marriage could affect Dr Burnham’s precious timeline.

Captain Pike reacts to her words, confusion blatant. “Fifty-six days?”

“The end of all sentient life. It should have happened on Stardate two-three-two, ten-fifty one,” Dr Burnham replies. “It’s two-three-two, ten-eighty three, now, fifty five days since you went to Acamar Two. What happened, there?”

“How do you know it was Acamar Two that changed things?” Philippa asks her, stepping forwards. Dr Burnham turns an empty gaze on her and if Philippa hadn’t already seen her be emotional today, she would have thought the woman a husk of duty rather than what she really is: a very stretched and tired time traveller, bent on saving the universe.

 _So stubborn, just like Michael,_ Philippa thinks bitterly, even as Dr Burnham replies.

“My latest manipulations have been preventing the war on Acamar Two from distracting _Discovery_ from her task. I prevented an assassination attempt on the tribal leader _Sah,_ before being drawn here to save Michael’s life.”

“How convenient,” Philippa murmurs, knowing exactly what might have changed events. Love, she’s found, can drive one down many unmapped roads. She still hurts a little inside at the reminder that she wasn’t invited to Michael’s wedding – she could have made it, if she had just been forewarned half a day. Philippa finds it doubtful that she shall ever have a main role in Michael’s life, forget about the ‘renewal’ ceremony that is to come.

“I need to know what changed,” Dr Burnham demands and Philippa lets them go unanswered, fingering the device in her pocket and thinking of Leland.

_You’ve been supplanted._

Philippa takes the data-stealing device out and places it on the table, shooting it with her phaser and point-blank range. The device explodes and Dr Burnham meets her gaze, eyes wide in surprise. Behind her, the timesuit glows and the ground rumbles beneath their feet. It will be gone soon and Dr Burnham shall remain.

“What was _that?_ ” Dr Burnham questions.

“You abandoned Michael,” Philippa states, ignoring her question, “and I was dragged into another universe to be given a second chance at life. The both of us must work to gain her trust and I advise you to start by being nice to her husband.”

“ _Husband?_ ”

Philippa smiles, hearing the familiar beam of a transporter behind her. “Yes. Your new son-in-law. You’ve already met. His name is Christopher Burnham or Captain Pike. Be nice. They’re in _love._ ” Then, she turns around and shoots Leland in the face.

His face disintegrates then rebuilds itself with a roar.

Philippa’s eyebrows rise up. “That is new.”

The fight lasts long enough for the data to transfer, of course. Leland – Control – fights for all he’s worth, but he can’t do anything when the suit flies away. Dr Burnham is just as clever as her daughter when she tricks him into falling inside the containment area, ordering the raising as a forcefield.

They trap Control and Control _screams_.

“By the way,” Philippa pants, looking to Dr Burnham. “Nice to meet you.”

Gabrielle grins at her, all teeth. “It’s my pleasure, Emperor. Now – what was this about a son-in-law?”

**Author's Note:**

> [star trek: discovery discord](https://discord.gg/uaGJqhH)


End file.
